<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Drink, to the Unfortunate, and Also to the Dead by StarsInMyDamnEyes</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723325">A Drink, to the Unfortunate, and Also to the Dead</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsInMyDamnEyes/pseuds/StarsInMyDamnEyes'>StarsInMyDamnEyes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Slightly to the Left of the Shadows [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Assassin Jaskier | Dandelion, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Gen, This was going to be crackier than it ended up but hopefully you can still get a laugh out of it, Young Jaskier | Dandelion, assassin child lies about ghouls: the fic, but it’s largely detached from this one, child murder! the murder of kids - by kids!!!, entirely too much levity for a fic about rampantly ending life, gratitous oc death, i decided to expand a little on the nebulous backstory of jaskier in rmq, lots of vaguely described violence idk i was sad, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have, rmq was toeing the line between dark and funny but this one’s just mildly gorey, which is the previous fic in this series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:42:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsInMyDamnEyes/pseuds/StarsInMyDamnEyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He almost fell asleep in an alcove, his first night, only to make his first kill shortly thereafter, when an older boy - definitely at least twelve summers - tried to gut him in his sleep. In a blind panic, he’d grabbed the boy’s wrist and twisted it round to land the knife in his own gullet, and the boy had been too surprised to resist.</p><p>That was the last time Julian had slept easily.</p><p>He learnt from his mistakes and the mistakes of others. He realised, when a little red-headed girl choked on water from one of the wells, that no act of sabotage was considered out of line, and he quickly got used to the concept of stealing when he caught another boy trying to pilfer his knives while he slept - and Julian never slept soundly anymore, the faintest of noises enough to jolt him back into consciousness, swinging a weapon.</p><p>Most importantly, he survived - thrived, even - because never made the same mistake twice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Slightly to the Left of the Shadows [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>150</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Drink, to the Unfortunate, and Also to the Dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Jfghkjdsfhkj lowkey this was inspired by Stardust (an excellent movie; i have not seen it) and the brothers that keep killing each other</p><p>Originally a oneshot but i felt like the bit i ended it one was by all rights an ending and a continuation would ruin the flow of the damn thing so please expect a chapter 2 in the *waves hand vaguely* nebulous void of the future after i update the 3 multichapters i am working on.</p><p>Anyways this is shittier than rmq if you’ve read that so sorry :(</p><p>Also thanks to @astraaeterna on tumblr for reminding me of assassin!jaskier as a concept jfghkfjhgkj</p><p>There’s a surprising lack of assassination this chapter (it’s all just fucking murder) but next chapter that will change i promise i just got minorly carried away</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Stygga Citadel fell, and the Cat Witchers who called it their seat abandoned it, it was only natural that someone would co-opt it for personal use eventually.</p><p>Lesser-known was the fact that it had spent a brief stint as the base of operations for an assassin’s guild, formerly of Oxenfurt. It was an experimental branch, the assassins sequestered in Ebbing - the logic being that if the recruits were trained from childhood rather than recruited as older teens, they would have more time to learn, to drill into themselves all the right instincts for the job.</p><p>That was where Julian had been taken after his father had thrown him out. He’d found out that his mother was half-elven, and had immediately had a conniption. Julian had failed to see exactly how it would benefit the now-sterile idiot of a man to throw away his only son, but no matter. He’d been picked up by a trafficker soon enough, and had made his way into the guild’s hands by the time he was seven.</p><p>It was hardly a structured curriculum that they had, with their methods of teaching boiling down to <i>you live in a damn witcher keep, use it, and if you make it to sixteen with everything still working you get to become one of us and go to Oxenfurt. Good fucking luck</i>. Julian had been unceremoniously dumped into the middle of this, locked into a castle with nothing to his name, and been told to survive and nothing else.</p><p>Julian’s first week had been full of near misses, but he was a fast learner. He almost fell asleep in an alcove, his first night, only to make his first kill shortly thereafter, when an older boy - definitely at least twelve summers - tried to gut him in his sleep. In a blind panic, he’d grabbed the boy’s wrist and twisted it round to land the knife in his own gullet, and the boy had been too surprised to resist.</p><p>That was the last time Julian had slept easily.</p><p>He learnt from his mistakes and the mistakes of others. He realised, when a little red-headed girl choked on water from one of the wells, that no act of sabotage was considered out of line, and he quickly got used to the concept of stealing when he caught another boy trying to pilfer his knives while he slept - and Julian never slept soundly anymore, the faintest of noises enough to jolt him back into consciousness, swinging a weapon.</p><p>Most importantly, he survived - thrived, even - because never made the same mistake twice.</p><p>Poisons and toxins were made by the trainees, with diagrams and notes from the witchers who had previously inhabited the keep one of the most sought-after relics, things that lives were lost over most of all.</p><p>Julian had made himself a public enemy by rounding up a great many of them, memorising them, and then promptly burning them.</p><p>There were no alliances or camaraderies amongst the assassin children, but some of the less skilled trainees, rankled at having lost such a chance, put together a group to take him down after that stunt. There were no names among the recruits, they were the first things forgotten, along with innocence, in Stygga, but aliases could be earned. Long-Swords had earned his name after he managed to get to the forge and have himself some new longswords - or, rather after he’d used said longswords to slaughter seventeen trainees in one go before someone took him out, losing him a finger.</p><p>It was Long-Swords who led the retribution against Julian - whose moniker had shifted from <i>Dandelion</i> (for being a stubborn fucker) to <i>Jaskier</i> (for being pretty and poisonous, and, he assumed, because somebody had <i>finally</i> twigged he was part-elven) - it was Long-Swords and his four-fingered hand that organised the charge on him.</p><p>Clearly Long-Swords - fifteen and knowing that he had no chance of graduating properly, not with his missing-finger and clearly having nothing to lose by retaliating against Julian - was smart enough to go after the shittier assassins whilst recruiting, figuring strength in numbers to be is only advantage, because everyone knew only an idiot would go along with his plan.</p><p>Well, except for the idiots.</p><p>It had been midwinter, and they’d stumbled upon Jaskier sipping his own pressed apple juice (Knobs had put poison down the well again, and Halfnose had taken to dumping corpses in the spring), in his favoured perch on the eastern wall. It had been a witcher trainee’s perch before it was Julian’s, and said witcher trainee had made it very comfortable for himself, and subsequently, done the same thing for Julian.</p><p>He’d been enjoying a perfectly nice evening until it had been interrupted by Long-Swords and his mob.</p><p>“Long-Swords,” he’d said, sweetly.</p><p>“Dandelion,” the boy spat, because the amount of consistency amongst the naming practices of Stygga’s assassins could be charitably described as <i>non-existent</i>, and Julian would hardly be the only one to have multiple monikers. “You’re going to die.”</p><p>Julian sipped his juice. “Obviously. Everyone dies. But you’re not going to kill me.”</p><p>“We will.”</p><p>“What, really? You have four fingers on your right hand, Long-Swords. You’re not <i>perfect</i>, you lost the game back when Eights took her victory. Even if you do make it to sixteen they’ll either slit your throat to keep a secret or have you cleaning the Watchtower. Accept it, you’re worth shit, less than I am, even.”</p><p>The confidence of a trainee was something that was a given, a base quality that everyone could expect to have mastered - if one was confident, it masked weaknesses that might otherwise be given away, and helped one keep a level head in any given situation. Overconfidence was a killer, absolutely, but the mask of someone sure in their actions was practically a given requirement in Stygga.</p><p>Eights, Long-Swords’ maimer, had had it down to an art. She’d carried herself with a surety and grace and <i>efficiency</i> that was practically professional, and nobody had been surprised to hear the gates creaking open on the morning of her sixteenth birthday.</p><p>It was a testament to Long-Swords’ ill-suitedness to the job that he had managed to for so long without picking up the remotest amount of talent for it.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Long-Swords snarled, knuckles going white with how intensely he was gripping his sword. “<i>Fuck you</i>, Dandelion.”</p><p>“All bark, no bite, apparently. Shame, really, I thought the great Long-Swords would be less talk, but it seems you live to disappoint.”</p><p>“Freckles, Anthill, <i>get him</i>.”</p><p>Had Julian been a bit more engaged with the whole <i>assassin</i> thing, he’d have been trying to curb his amusement at Long-Swords’ idiotic campaign, but as it was, he picked up his short swords (the irony did not escape him) with an air of resignation.</p><p>He had no doubt as to who would win. Anyone foolish enough to form an alliance in with Long-Swords was either desperate or stupid or both, and Julian was neither. It was why he’d been around long enough to collect a second alias.</p><p>Most kids only got one, if they didn’t die within their first week.</p><p>Julian eyes the paltry mob before him, as Freckles and Anthill closed the distance. There were nine of them in total, counting Long-Swords, and three of them were the triplets that had been brought in last week.</p><p>Figured. They were all mostly younger, new recruits, too - all younger than Julian was save for Long-Swords - people that the bastard could easily take advantage of.</p><p>Freckles’ head was on the floor before Julian had even thought of a plan, a method, for his attack, and one of the triplets screamed.</p><p>Looping a leg around one of Anthill’s was easy, the boy having been far too focused on Julian’s blade to notice what his foot was doing, and tripping him onto his blade was even easier. Surely, they should have known that they wouldn’t last against him.</p><p>He wasn’t complaining.</p><p>If this had been a year or so earlier, Julian might have spared them, but he <i>never</i> repeated a mistake he’d borne witness to. Eights had spared Long-Sword a slow death, and now Long-Sword was causing him trouble.</p><p>Anyone that had spent any amount of time at Stygga was a trained killer. That was, insofar as it could be said that there was any point to this at all, the whole <i>point</i> of keeping the trainees at Stygga in the first place.</p><p>It was really on these idiots that they would attack him like that.</p><p>Julian leapt at the triplets first - a mercy kill. They wouldn’t have made it far anyways, not as soft as they were, and he couldn’t risk any of Long-Swords’ mobsters bearing a grudge. He slit their throats as quickly as he could - they barely even have time to register what Julian had done before it was all over, and they were reduced to crow-bait cooling on the ground, and warm, sticky stains spattering Julian’s already bloodstained clothes.</p><p>Of the four left, Long-Swords would go last. The other three, Julian had not been acquainted with - he generally didn’t trouble himself with getting to know the endless swarm of recruits unless they stumbled across him first - but one of them apparently had some amount of skill.</p><p>She settled into a low stance, a stance that boasted skill, daring Julian to go.</p><p>Julian went.</p><p>Her weapon of choice was a sabre - not something found in Stygga, so she’d been trained outside, too - and Julian slashed at her from the side, making up the distance quickly.</p><p>She parried, but barely, not expecting his speed, and Julian gave her no time to process, slipping behind her and making a swipe at the nape of her neck, one that she barely managed to avoid by rolling forward, the short sword still drawing blood.</p><p>Credit where it was due, the girl recovered quickly, and swung at him, scrabbling for the chance to go on the offensive, but it wasn’t enough. Julian was simply better than her. Her strike was slow, and clumsy, the movement far too telegraphed, to the point where it could easily be sidestepped and avoided entirely, and that was what Julian did.</p><p>He stepped behind her, and this time, she wasn’t fast enough to avoid the short sword that came for her neck, and the blade bit into her neck before she had time to react, blood splattering Julian’s face as he severed her head.</p><p>Long-Swords had begun to flee, by now, which simply wouldn’t do at all, so Julian slit the throats of his two remaining lackeys with an almost absent-minded ease before giving chase.</p><p>For all he was tall, the fifteen-year-old was not particularly fast, and it was no chore to catch up with him where he’d fled.</p><p>“You a coward, Long-Swords?” Julian gasped, more in exhilaration than anything else. The adrenaline tended to have that kind of effect.</p><p>“Fuck off, Dandelion, fuck off and die!”</p><p>“I’d have left you alone, y’know,” Julian mused. “But you tried to kill me.”</p><p>“You burned the fucking manuscripts, you <i>bitch</i>. The fuck are we supposed to use for poison now?”</p><p>“Belladonna, you uncreative bastard. You can get more complex ones when you leave for Oxenfurt. Oh, wait.”</p><p>“Fuck off, we need that shit <i>here</i>. To kill little pricks like <i>you</i>, who think they’re hot shit.”</p><p>Julian put his short sword to the bastard’s throat.</p><p>“You can’t kill me. I’m a stubborn fucker, and you’re just a <i>prick</i>.”</p><p>“Oh,” Long-Swords laughed manically. “Oh yeah? Never took you for an arrogant little shit, Dandelion, Dandelion, Dande-fucking-lion, but here we fucking are.”</p><p>“Here <i>I</i> am,” Julian corrected, and Long-Sword’s eyes widened as he caught the meaning.</p><p>“No, no, no, please no!”</p><p>Apparently, he’d been expecting amnesty, the pillock.</p><p>Jaskier slit his throat, shallowly enough that Long-Swords would live to feel the utter agony that was choking on his own blood, but deeply enough that it would kill him.</p><p>He didn’t usually go for painful deaths, but Long-Swords was a <i>dick</i>.</p><p>Either way, Julian thought, that was that. He’d probably have to make some fresh apple juice, however, given how he’d taken his eyes off it.</p><p>But that had been that, and Halfnose had dumped the corpses in the spring again, after which the trainees collectively forgot about the whole incident, irrelevant as it became. Deaths were not kept track of at Stygga -  there were too many of them for that.</p><p>Summers came and went, and Julian survived. Being jolted out of fitful sleep and meeting a blade with his dagger before he was even fully conscious was all-but second nature, and the constant vigilance required to test every possible foodstuff for poison was all but routine, especially after one of the little shits lurking somewhere in Stygga’s halls had smeared every apple on one of the trees with a generous helping of poison. Julian knew who the culprit <i>was</i>, of course, there were only a few recruits left who’d learnt the old witcher potions before he’d made it his personal mission to torch the lot, but he was hardly a <i>proactive</i> assassin.</p><p>Occasionally, he wondered if he was even an assassin at all, or just a run-of-the-mill murderer - though he supposed officially, none of them were assassins, given that none of them had actually murdered a proper public figure before.</p><p>Regardless, he was perfectly happy standing at the sidelines as he watched a hapless recruit choke up blood after taking a bite of one of the poisoned fruits. What wasn’t his business, wasn’t his business, unless he felt like making it so, and he <i>didn’t</i>. The gods only knew he saw enough death day-to-day already, without seeking it out.</p><p>Poisons down wells, toxins on fruit... Julian’s thirteenth summer was one of scarcity, a war of resourcefulness.</p><p>He was doing well for himself, shooting down birds to eat with the crossbow he’d nabbed, and hunting for rabbits outside the citadel (a suicide mission to most, given the treacherous terrain and the monsters that lurked around every corner, but Julian was skilled enough to pull it off), and it wasn’t long before he gained a tag-along.</p><p>Her name was Rosemary - for the herb, she’d said, and Julian could smell it on her, and wondered where it came from - around his age, with weathered skin that shone with the sweat that adorned every trainee’s skin in the Ebbing summer sun.</p><p>She was wholly unremarkable, in fact - skilled enough to stay alive, smart enough to keep her head down, sensible enough not to fall for the plentiful traps around the castle, and stupid enough to follow Julian out of the keep.</p><p>“Jaskier,” she said, tagging along after him. “<i>Ja-skier</i>. Jaskier, why do they call you Jaskier? What’s it mean?”</p><p>Her clear, ringing voice was loud enough to carry, and Julian winced. The area would surely be filled with all manner of creature soon enough, with Rosemary’s antics.</p><p>This was why he was <i>careful</i> when he left Stygga, why he never ventured too far. He had no desire to engage any monster in combat and risk injury.</p><p>Either Rosemary was just an idiot, or she was deliberately trying to have Julian cornered by a monster. Given her small, slight build, it wasn’t a far stretch to assume she’d trained for speed and athleticism, and that she’d be able to flee back to Stygga easily enough, leaving Julian in the dirt with a monster.</p><p>It was fifty-fifty.</p><p>“Why don’tcha just leave Stygga, if you know how to face the outdoors? Did you scale the walls? I did, you know, it was hellish. <i>Jaskier</i>. Is it true you’ve been here for six years? Only, Celandine swore up and down you were the one who burned the papers, that everyone’s still pissed about because now they can’t mix poisons. She called you the Book Burner, but said it never did catch on. What’cha doing out here, anyways? Is it ‘cause of the poison in all the food? Do you hunt? Only, Celandine said you hunted for birds, so I don’t know why you’d leave Stygga. No one else leaves, and the Watchtower hasn’t pulled you up for it, but nobody else who left ever came back- Jaskier? Can you hear me?”</p><p>The extended monologue in the monster-rich forest was vexing, partially because it was bound to attract some manner of creature or other, but also because it did absolutely nothing to help determine whether Rosemary was an idiot or a manipulator.</p><p>“I’m looking for a ghoul,” Julian said, at last. “They’re carrion-feeders, the books called them necrophages.”</p><p>“Burn those too?”</p><p>“Sure I did, can’t have <i>you</i> finding them, after all. But ghouls... They’re dead easy to hunt, and they’re nutritious, too. You can eat them raw, too - they’ve got advanced immune systems, so any disease’ll be eradicated the moment the ghoul gets it. It’s what I come out here for, a ghoul’ll last you a whole week. I don’t always get one when I come out though, the elusive little bastards.”</p><p>Julian was a very good liar. It wasn’t a talent he exercised often, being more bite than bark (diplomacy never did get one very far with an assassin), but telling lies about ghouls to someone currently endangering his life by sticking a veritable target on their backs, screaming to any monster nearby that they were free food if they cared to approach, was a golden opportunity for him.</p><p>With any luck, Rosemary really would turn out to be an idiot, and come out on her own to hunt a ghoul, which would take care of her for him.</p><p>“If they’re corpse-eaters, wouldn’t you do best using a corpse as bait?”</p><p>Julian snorted. “Do you know how hard it is to scale a wall with a body on your back? And they splatter if you drop them.”</p><p>Rosemary shrugged. “Attract them to the wall, then.”</p><p>“And have to deal with all the other necrophages, too? No fucking thanks.”</p><p>Julian made his way over to a rocky cliffside path, one that he never crossed near if he could help it - it was a lip of rock moreso than a path, really, with sheer stone beneath it, and sheer stone above it, the edge of the precipice upon which Stygga Citadel was built. He’d traversed the damn thing only when hounded by monsters, all of which were too large to find purchase on the ledge, barely wide enough for a man.</p><p>It was a trap, of course, because these days, what <i>wasn’t</i> a trap?</p><p>Still it would be a very convenient way to kill Rosemary if she tried to kill him.</p><p>“Is this a trap?” Rosemary frowned at him. “Damn, I thought you really thought I was an idiot.”</p><p>Oh. Right. So she was both. An idiot threat.</p><p>“Congratulations,” Julian said. “Trap sprung.”</p><p>“What? But- Oh.”</p><p>“Yep, you just... Up and admitted that you were trying to get me killed. Which kind of makes you an idiot.”</p><p>Rosemary furrowed her brow. “But I mean, isn’t that the given? We all try to kill each other?”</p><p>“I suppose it is,” Julian said, sighing as he stepped backwards, further along the lip of rock he so charitably termed a path, and pulled out his short sword and dagger. “So, do you want to, like... Or we could just go back, I’ll leave the ghouls for later.”</p><p>“You were telling the truth about the ghouls? No fucking way, I don’t believe you.”</p><p>Julian shrugged. “More for me, then.”</p><p>Rosemary pulled her own weapons - two daggers - and ran at Julian along the edge of the precipice.</p><p>This would, without a doubt, be the most terrifying fight that Julian had ever participated in. The rocky cliff face to his right - his dominant hand, insofar as an assassin <i>had</i> a dominant hand in the first place, the profession seemed to demand some level of ambidexterity - restricted his movement severely.</p><p>He’d wield the dagger in his right, and the longer short sword in his left, this time.</p><p>Rosemary leapt at him, spinning mid air like a god-damn show-off of an acrobat, daggers slashing at Julian.</p><p>He raised his short sword to parry, but before he could shove her off to the side, sending her tumbling down the cliff, she rolled out of the way, neat as could be. Annoyingly.</p><p>Giving her no time to recover, Julian moved forward, angling his blade diagonally downwards at her neck and his dagger up to her chest, only to find her ducking the blow, impossibly low, already slashing at his calves in retaliation.</p><p>Julian jumped, because he could be acrobatic about things, too, and turned the movement into a somersault (because while it would be smarter to let Rosemary underestimate him, this fight had the potential to be so <i>showy</i>, and he was vain to a fault), landing, lightly as a cat, on the sliver of path the precipice afforded him.</p><p>“Show-off,” Rosemary pouted.</p><p>“Speak for yourself.”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>He moved at the same time as she did, slashing at her neck with his dagger and her midriff with the short sword, just as she tried to bring both daggers down into his head.</p><p>He caught Rosemary’s arms on his, dagger flailing hopelessly wide, but her abdomen was still exposed, and she gasped as the sword slit her skin.</p><p>“Fuck, fuck, <i>Jaskier!</i>”</p><p>Rosemary stumbled back, red blood seeping into her grey shirt, split by Julian’s blade.</p><p>“Jaskier! Help me, fuck, I’m bleeding!”</p><p>And Julian almost wanted to approach her, to apply pressure on the wound and keep her <i>alive</i>, even though logically he’d only known her for less than an hour and she <i>had</i> tried to kill him, but despite everything...</p><p>Julian had never really much felt inclined to help someone, it came with the territory.</p><p>The hollow guilt was new.</p><p>“Sorry,” he said. “But you’d only stab me if I came near you.”</p><p>Rosemary laughed, empty and resigned. “Yeah. I would.”</p><p>And she let herself fall off the precipice.</p><p>Julian stared down into the foggy abyss, the ground just near enough that he could see the tiny speck that used to be Rosemary, and stayed there for a long time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Jaskier being self-taught wasn’t originally the plan but oh well</p><p>The way i see it, someone had to invent fighting in the first place so it’s not inconceivable that he’s be good at it even without the teacher if he engages in rampant murderage and killery</p><p>This includes vague references to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffboi/pseuds/ruffboi">ruffboi</a>‘s witcher!jaskier fic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24532948?view_full_work=true">raised by wolves and voices</a><br/>I didn’t mean it as a thievery i just like the fic and wanted to reference it jdhkfjhsakjfdh<br/>Anyways go read it it’s much better than this bullshit jdhgkshgjk</p><p>Please leave a comment, i crave them like they are death and i am a horse</p><p>I am @stars-in-my-damn-eyes on tumblr if you want to call me an idiot</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>